


Wound

by thingswithwings



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, Rough Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-25
Updated: 2007-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some killing of vampires, lots of porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after The Siege III, while John’s in California delivering news to Ford’s cousin, and just after the events in Five By Five and Sanctuary, while Faith is out on bail and awaiting trial (let’s imagine). Just pretend that those timelines synch up, okay? I promise you porn if you do.

  
There are always supposed to be pleasantries first.

“So, whaddya do?” Faith inquires politely, tossing back another shot.

The man next to her at the bar grins shallowly, and for just a moment Faith wonders – but no, they’re pressed together by people jostling for drinks, and the skin of his arm is warm, even sweaty, where it touches her shoulder. And she always knows, never been wrong, but there’s something in that grin that would make her pull a stake if she didn’t trust her instincts.

Not that her instincts have been serving her so well these last few days. Years. Whatever.

The man manages to look casual and lazy, loose-limbed even in this horde of bodies. For a moment, she wonders if the dick isn’t even going to answer her, but then he tosses back a shot of his own and says, in a clear, precise voice, an ironic smile tilting the corner of his mouth: “Lately, I fight vampires.”

That explains it, then.

“No kidding,” Faith says.

“Nope.” He’s not drunk, not yet, but Faith’s spent enough time in places like this one to know the look of a man who wishes he were drunk enough to say what he’s saying. Making her decision, Faith braces one hand on the metal railing in front of her and uses it to boost herself half-over the bar, catching the bartender by the collar and dragging him into a face-to-face.

“Hey, jimbo, four more for me and my friend here,” she demands, slapping some of Angel’s money down onto the damp wood. The bartender hops to; it’s possible that she’s been here before. A couple weeks ago, she saw the inside of a lot of L.A. bars.

The man next to her accepts the shots with a raised eyebrow and clinks his glass with hers. “John,” he says. He hesitates, as if he’s used to introducing himself in full.

“Faith,” she answers.

She’s just about to suggest they go somewhere more comfortable, like the back alley, when all hell breaks loose in that way that all hell always breaks loose: from the dance floor, the sounds of breaking glass, screams, the usual. Faith can hear the screams, even over the music, even through the bodies of the crowd.

“Shit,” she says, glancing at John and wondering if he was serious about that vampire killing thing. “Drink fast.”

She polishes off her whiskey and is moving toward the fight without looking to see if John follows her. She doesn’t stop to talk – sometimes you can skip the pleasantries when you already know the steps – just wades right in and starts throwing elbows and fists and taking them down, one by one. The crowd draws back to watch; the man with blood on his neck scrambles away into the darkness.

John steps in after a moment; in her peripheral vision, she sees him take one of them down: kick, elbow strike-jab, throw. He looks good in motion, smooth and strong, not even seeming to register the vamp’s superhuman strength. It doesn’t take long for John to get him into a lock, bearing him to the ground with his body.

“You got a stake?” Faith calls. John glances up at her, surprised, then back down to where he’s holding the vamp to the floor.

“No?” John calls back.

“Jesus,” she says, and beats the other two into a corner where she can drive a quick, messy kick to a barstool. She tosses one of the legs to John, who catches it automatically, and then quickly dusts her two with another piece of splintered wood.

She turns to look at John, who’s still got a knee in the vamp’s back and a stake in his hand, looking like he’s just been told to build a TV out of coconuts.

“What are you waiting for?” she yells at him, over the music that is somehow still pounding in the background.

The vamp that John’s been holding down rears up against his grip, and John drops the stake in the struggle to keep his hold. She sees it coming, and John sees it coming too, tries to deflect it, but the vamp manages to twist out of John’s hold and buck him off, manages to get an elbow into John’s gut and reverse their positions.

Faith is about to roll her eyes and go to drag the thing off of John – some vampire hunter he turned out to be – when she’s knocked to the ground by a blow from behind.

It was a flying tackle, a fourth vampire, and she didn’t see her, _didn’t fucking see her there_ , wasn’t watching her back. She’s pinned down, the vamp pushing knees into her thighs and hands into her biceps and pressing her into the dirty floor, pressing her face into broken glass and beer and god knows what else. Hot breath on the back of her neck and then just the edge of a tooth, a pinprick.

And, no fucking way. Faith’s never been bitten, and isn’t about to start. She isn’t worth much, maybe, anymore, but she isn’t about to go down as vamp food on the floor of some dirty club. She works her thigh out from under the vamp’s knee, flips her over and holds her down. All her attention is on this moment, her fists and legs and her body, but out of the corner of her eye she registers John, still alive somehow, struggling to get the stake between his body and the body of the vampire pressing him into the floor.

Her knuckles start to hurt, but she keeps going. Then, from a few feet away, there’s the sound of a vamp dusting. She doesn’t have time to think of John – she’s too busy pounding the vamp’s face into the ground with her fist – but suddenly he’s there beside her, catching her wrist on the upswing and pushing a stake into her palm.

Faith finishes her off, closing her eyes as the strange scream of the vampire’s death reaches her ears. Then she’s just kneeling on the floor, panting, cuts on her face and glass in her hair and alive.

John doesn’t offer her a hand up. She gets to her feet. There’s a messy bite on John’s neck, long tears smeared with blood.

“What the _fuck_ just happened here?” John asks in a low, dangerous voice.

Faith reaches out and rubs a thumb through the blood on John’s neck.

“Thought you were a vampire hunter,” she says.

Around them, the club is emptying out; the people who thought they were watching a bar fight probably got a little more than they’d expected, what with some of the combatants exploding and all. No one meets her eyes. And shit, she has to get out of here before the cops show up; this probably counts as violating her bail terms.

John, though – he meets her eyes, and has the temerity to toss her a hard, ironic smile. “Yeah, well, I think my vampires are a different variety,” he says.

-

It doesn’t take much to get him outside, to get him pressed against the brick wall, to get her tongue into his hot mouth and her hands on his ass. She just jerked her head toward the back door and walked away, feeling the heat of his body behind her as he followed closely on her heels. John walks with a lazy, hip-first saunter, but it’s a lie: his fists are tight and his eyes are dark and he kisses hard and angry. He pulls away, once, like he wants to ask questions, but she swallows them up fast, bites his throat to make him forget.

Faith’s got him unzipped and is reaching into his boxers to grip his cock when he groans and pushes her away.

“That’s a first,” she laughs.

“Is there a place we can go?” John asks, his voice dry and husky.

She hesitates. Then: “Yeah.”

There’s a shitty hotel just down the block, the kind of place that serves her kind of girl. She pushes John down to sit on the worn, stained sheets, then kicks off her boots and starts stripping her jeans.

John gets naked fast and then gets up to help her, rubbing his cock against her bare thigh where she’s pushed off her underwear and pulling her t-shirt over her head in one swift, ruthless motion. Then his mouth is on her nipple, pulling harshly at her through the scratchy lace of her bra, and she barely manages to kick her pants off from around her ankles before getting her hands on his ribs and shoving him hard back onto the bed.

“You’re strong,” John pants, pushing his dick at the juncture of her thighs, unhooking her bra and tossing it to the floor.

“Yeah,” Faith answers, and spreads her thighs and leans forward, bracing her knees on the bed on either side of John’s waist. She bends over him and lets his cock slip between the cheeks of her ass, grinding herself down. He groans, his eyes fluttering closed briefly before snapping open again.

John gets a hand on himself, guides his cockhead to her ass and rubs it against her hole. Then he moves it up, pressing the tip into the smooth spot behind her cunt, grinding into her.

“How do you want me?” he asks, low and dirty.

Faith grimaces at the familiar words, closing her eyes against the remembered sensation of Riley moving inside her body – Buffy’s body – so slowly, tenderly.

She gropes to find her jeans, gets a condom from the pocket and slides it down over his dick, making sure to give him a little rough twist of her wrist on the way down.

“Jesus,” he grinds out, slowly, thrusting into her hand.

“Spread your thighs,” she tells him, and he does, offers himself up with a groan. She licks two fingers and shoves them into his ass, her knuckles twisting cruelly into his body.

His eyes squeeze shut again, as if he’s bracing himself against pleasure. Then, without warning, he grabs her wrist and pulls her fingers from his ass, twists his hips, throws her so she lands on the other side of the bed. Then his hands are on her shoulders and he’s pushing her thigh up and sliding into her, fast and rough.

She grabs his neck and pulls him down, forces him deeper, clamps her knees against his ribs. “Hey,” she gasps, “I like it on top.”

John pulls out and back, and she follows, thrusts up onto him, grinding her clit against his pelvis as she arches off the bed.

“Yeah, that’s funny,” he says, as if having a perfectly everyday conversation. “I don’t.”

“Fuck,” she moans, long and low as he thrusts into her again. “Jesus. Okay. Hang on.” She flips them again, pulling off of his dick, feeling it slide wetly from her body.

“What, what?” he demands, curling a palm around his cock while she gets to her hands and knees.

“From behind,” she says, as if it isn’t already obvious, as if he isn’t already moving up behind her. His thighs rasp against hers, his stomach wet with sweat where it presses against her ass. He teases his cock along the curve of her ass, and she clamps down around him with her thighs for a second just to give him a little ride. He gives up a little grunt and fucks between her legs, two rough thrusts. Faith is easily bored, though, so she spreads her thighs, reaches back and grabs his wrist, and pulls him down onto her.

“Just fuck me, Christ.”

John does, bracing and pushing back into her cunt, the angle better this time. Faith shifts so that she’s supporting their weight on one arm and gets the other hand down to her clit, feeling herself start to clench as the first waves of pleasure start to roll through her. John’s arm snakes around her and his fingers twine with hers, pushing up over hooded flesh and down to where his cock is pumping into her.

John’s hot breath on the back of her neck, teeth running over the skin there, and it’s enough: she throws her head back and shoves back against John while she comes, grinding her fingertips down onto her clit and holding, holding, as her body strains into the release, white light bursting behind her closed eyelids.

“God,” John breathes, his teeth coming down on her shoulder for real, now, his thrusts speeding up.

“You wanna come like this?” Faith manages, pushing back against him, meeting him on every thrust. It’s almost better now she’s come, the way he’s let go, the way he’s just fucking up into her hard and fast.

“Yeah, yeah. No. Fuck, can you – will you – ”

She doesn’t know how she knows – maybe all her instincts aren’t shot to hell, after all – but she manages to twist around again, gets them face to face again and gets his dick back inside her, and John arches his spine to get his lips on her breast while she gives him what he wants, pushes her fingers back into his ass and curls them, reaching, stroking hard and dry and ruthlessly.

He pulls his mouth off her nipple and stutters out a low series of what almost sound like words, then shoves his dick into her a few more times, sloppy thrusts. Faith arches up to meet him, so wet now, so slick, and comes again just from the fucking. She keeps her fingers twisting in his ass while John thrusts through his orgasm, his face buried in her shoulder, big hands gripping her hips roughly.

“Unnnngh,” John groans, his body hot and sweaty over hers. She gets a hand on the base of his dick to hold the condom in place and pulls her hips back, sliding off of him. He gets himself together and pulls the condom off, tossing it in the general direction of the trash can before flopping down beside her on the bed.

“Not bad, hero,” Faith grins.

John laughs, his body shaking and his face pressed into the flat hotel pillow.

“Back atcha,” he says. There’s a long pause, then, and Faith waits for it.

“Those were vampires, back at the club,” he says tentatively.

“Yeah.”

She looks over at him, and he turns his head to meet her gaze, licks his lips. “I shoved a stake into that guy’s heart and he exploded.”

“You dusted him. Took you long enough. I thought you said you fought vamps.”

Something cold flashes behind John’s eyes at that. “Different kind. Less Bram Stoker.” Rolling onto his side, he reaches out with one long-fingered hand and presses his palm to her sternum, as if having some kind of heartfelt moment. “Like this. They suck the life out of you. With their hands.”

“Right,” Faith says, slowly. She’s never heard of a demon like that, but she’ll believe anything once.

“Your life,” John repeats, as if trying to convince her. “They,” he swallows. His hand slips from her chest and slides down to grip her wrist, pulls her palm up to rest against his breastbone instead. “It gets pulled out of you, and you dry up and get old, turn to dust.”

There are still streaks of blood on John’s neck, dried now to a deep red-black. The little wounds from the vamp’s teeth are still oozing sluggishly.

“Yeah, well, I know how that feels.” Faith answers, her tone flippant. The way she slid the broken glass against Wesley’s pale skin, the way the blood blooming under her fingertips made something inside her break open, too, harsh and real and necessary.

John’s inscrutable, his eyes dark and his mouth a hard line. After a long moment, he bends forward again, taking another of those hard kisses. She gets her tongue in his mouth and they stay like that for a long time, twisting and biting hungrily, none of it quite enough.

When they break apart, she holds his gaze for a while. Then she gets up to get dressed.

“Anyway,” she says, and suddenly it’s just another anonymous fuck, just like any other. “Thanks.”

John blinks at her, then reaches for his clothes.

“You too,” he drawls offhandedly, finding his jeans and pulling them on, arching his hips off the bed while he slides them up his thighs. Faith watches as he buttons them, hiding his dark hair and wet dick with little flicks of his thumbs. She pulls her shirt over her head and hesitates with her hand on the doorknob.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” John offers, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He’s not meeting her eyes; she wonders how long he has in L.A.

She’ll be in prison within a month, the lawyers tell her.

“Maybe,” she agrees, and walks out the door.


End file.
